Letters
by AreiaCannaid
Summary: In which some friendly letters between Will and Gilan may hold the key to saving Will from a rather nasty mess involving smugglers. (Takes place around/after The Lost Stories)
1. Chapter 1

**Letters**

 **A/N:** So I've had this idea for a while, but have been more than a little nervous about posting or sharing it. I finally gathered enough courage to do so though, and I hope you find this short as fun to read as it was for me to concoct and write. It'll be just a little short, about three chapters total in length.

 **Disclaimer:** I have nothing but respect for John Flanagan's stories… I absolutely don't own anything, not RA, and definitely none of the characters or places therein. And I certainly do not profit from this in any way, aside from my own enjoyment- and hopefully the enjoyment of others.

 **Summary:** In which some friendly letters between Will and Gilan may hold the key to saving Will from a nasty mess involving smugglers... because Will can never stay out of trouble for too long. (Takes place around/after The Lost Stories)

* * *

 **Letters**

"Halt," Will greeted distractedly from where he sat at the small table without turning around.

Halt entered the cabin fully then, shutting the door behind him.

"Coffee's in the kitchen," Will added. "It should be ready now. I'll be with you in a moment—I just need to finish something first."

Halt nodded and went to go pour a cup of coffee for both himself and Will.

Will was bent over several sheaves of paper, quill in hand. Halt's first thought was that Will was filling out reports, but he quickly discarded that notion as soon as he saw the smile on the young man's face. It was the sort of smile that Halt had long ago learned to be leery of; the type of smile that usually found its end in some form of trouble or another.

"Oh, that's good. That's really good," Will snickered softly to himself as he added another line.

Suspicious, and fully on guard by this time, Halt sat opposite Will and set both cups down. The young Ranger paid it no head, absorbed as he was with the workings of his pen. Halt felt and unsettling feeling begin to take hold in him as his mind was hit with the memory of the last time Will had been this absorbed in his writing: his terrible wedding speech. Though this time promised to be even worse if Will's gleeful snickering and suspiciously wicked looking grins had anything to add to the matter.

Halt took a sip of his coffee, his uncomfortable feeling only growing as Will added what appeared to be his last line, his tongue protruding slightly from the corner of his mouth. He then signed his name at the bottom of the page with a flourish and a horribly self-satisfied smile.

"It's perfect," he said almost reverently to himself.

"What's perfect?" Halt asked blankly, still unsettled in the suspicion that he probably did not really want to know.

Will looked slightly startled at the abrupt question and Halt guessed that his former apprentice had not realized that he had spoken aloud. His startlement however soon gave way to what could almost be termed as evasiveness.

"Oh, um… what I was working on. I mean, it's probably not really perfect, but I was just pleased with how it turned out and… well…" he trailed, shifting slightly in his seat.

"And what is this, exactly?" Halt gestured towards the paper.

"Just a letter of sorts," Will admitted almost uncomfortably with a shrug, trying unsuccessfully to deter Halt's interest with false nonchalance.

"A letter to who?" Halt asked, ignoring proper grammar for the sake of brevity.

"To Gilan," Will admitted.

Halt nodded then. That actually explained a lot. Some of his earlier unease began to lessen as he grew satisfied that this was, at least, not going to be some nightmarish repeat of the speech fiasco.

"He and I have been writing each other lately so I was just um… you know, writing back," he finished lamely.

Halt decided to give the obviously flustered young man a break and changed the subject.

"So, Will, what exactly did you need to discuss with me?"

Will looked relieved at the subject change and set himself to the task of explaining, his manner becoming much surer as he spoke on.

"Right, well, I've been tracking what I think to be bandits traveling through Redmont. It appears to be a semi-large group of them that has split itself into smaller factions. I know this because I took one of these groups down and found some letters on them that name the meeting place for the rest. It's near the west-most edge of the fief. It really seems to be a relatively small issue, all things considered, but I was hoping to head them off and wanted to let you know so you could cover for me here."

A closer look at Will's report and the evidence brought Halt to the same conclusion that Will had come to. He knew that Will could handle this easily on his own. Will, after all, had become one of the best Rangers in the corps, not to mention the acting Ranger of Redmont fief. Halt considered for a moment and then nodded.

"I think you'll have it well in hand," he affirmed shortly, and it was an honest assessment.

Will beamed at the veiled compliment, "Besides, Lady Pauline will have my head if I take you away from her for something so trivial," he added cheekily.

"That's true," Halt said, deadpan.

It took Will only a short while to make ready for his new mission and, after dropping off his letter to be delivered, he set out for the west most edge of the fief on Tug. Halt went to get his own supplies in preparation of taking over the cabin in Will's absence.

 **~x~X~x~**

It was about four days later that idle curiosity—admittedly mixed with a fair amount of boredom—found Halt rising from the chair that he occupied in the small cabin in the woods and reaching for the fairly large wooden box where Will kept his important documents and letters. He leafed through the sheets at the top, which consisted mainly of reports and notes. Closer to the bottom, there were a few stacks of paper tied neatly together with twine. The handwriting on the foremost sheet of the topmost bundle definitely belonged to Lady Alyss. Obviously, Will had kept every letter she had ever written him.

Moving that neat pile aside, he picked up the next bundle and, after a while, decided that these letters were from Horace, Araluen's primer Knight and Will's first, and possibly best, friend. The handwriting on the topmost page of the third bundle he recognized instantly, far quicker than the other two, for he had seen it many times before. It was Gilan's, his apprentice before Will.

This bundle he lifted forth from the box, feeling a mild curiosity grip him as he remembered Will's gleeful snickering some days earlier.

Halt had never really been one to feel overly compelled to pay especially strict attention to rules. And that particular compunction seemed to extended to rules of proper society and etiquette on a few select occasions. This day was apparently one such occasion, he decided as he sat back down and placed the bundle before him on the table. He carefully untied the string that bound the pages together. Picking up the first page, he saw, by the date on it, that Will had organized the letters by putting the oldest one at the top of the stack and the newest one at the bottom.

The oak leaf symbol emblazoned at the top of the sheets marked the pages as official Ranger paper, but Will's expressions and suspiciously self-satisfied laughter told the grizzled older Ranger that the contents were probably anything but official. It was for this very same reason that Halt suspected that the letter had the promise to brighten what would otherwise be a fairly dull afternoon. With these expectant thoughts in mind, the bearded Ranger through etiquette to the wind and began to read the first letter.

 _Dear Will,_

 _It has been a long time since I last heard from you— and I praise God daily for such a blessing. Every time I find myself in the beauty of a peaceful moment, I thank God again for his obvious favor._

 _Though, come to think of it, I might be a bit too favored. Things have been rather dull around Whitby of late. Truth be told, it has gotten so that I would not be too opposed to having you around to blunder about, cause accidents, and otherwise act like the candle flame to moths, which attracts every manner of danger within reach. I miss that special talent of yours about now. I actually miss you too_ — _as much as I would miss the presence of a particularly nasty rash that has suddenly cleared up after bothering me for years._

 _In all seriousness though, how have you been? Well I hope. How are things at Redmont? Has Halt found a way to leave you with all the paperwork, even though technically you're supposed to work together? That wouldn't surprise me in the least. Our old mentor can be horribly sneaky like that, especially when he is trying to settle a score. Though why he would ever find fault in either you or I is beyond me._

 _With much hatred, abhorrence, and basically any other word that signifies a strong dislike,_

 _-Gilan_

Halt felt his mouth twitching up almost imperceptibly at the corners as he read the letter. Rangers could never resist playful ribbing. His two former apprentices were definitely not exceptions to this. Shaking his head slightly, he picked up the next letter in the pile.

He was momentarily surprised to see that it was in Will's handwriting, until he recalled Will's habit of always writing rough drafts first, which served as back-ups. It was a trait he had always had, but it had become a full-fledged, almost obsessive habit since the fateful day at the Moondarker's camp when he had accidentally destroyed Horace and Cassandra's wedding speech in a fire and had no other copies of his work. That was something that Halt had considered a blessing at the time. However, today, the grey bearded Ranger actually found himself grateful for the habit. This was because it meant that he would get both halves of the conversation.

 _Dear Gilan,_

 _I was displeased to receive your letter the other day because it means that you are, in fact, still alive. I would have thought that the earth herself would have rejected you by now. But no matter, it will happen sooner or later, I'm sure. I may be a rash on Araluen and its people, but at least rashes are hard to get rid of—you, on the other hand, not so much._

 _Seriously though, things here are definitely not as quiet as in Whitby. I've actually been tracking down some rumors of a highwayman near abouts, and intend to stop him by setting up an ambush. The only problem is that I have yet to get a solid location on where that bandit will be lying in wait. I suppose that will mean a long while of trailing the merchant's carts on the road—something I'm not looking forward too._

 _Though I look forward to solving that problem more that my other one. Gilan, you have to help me! You know the baker's daughter, right? Well, she was carrying a basket of day old bread to the Ward the other night when she fell. I happened to be passing her at the time and tried to catch her, but I was a bit too far out to do it easily, and we ended up in a position that a passerby might have considered romantic or suggestive. To make matters worse, she may have kissed me on the cheek by way of saying thanks. The problem is that Alyss was on her way to the castle at the time and saw us. And now she thinks I've been disloyal to her. She was so angry that she didn't give me a chance to explain. I may have accidentally ruined everything. What if I can't fix this? Please Gilan, tell me what I should do! Though why I am resorting to asking for advice from a scarecrow like you is beyond me._

 _I hope to never hear from you again,_

 _-Will_

 ** _~x~_**

 _Dear Will,_

 _It pleased me greatly to hear that your life had been so filled with misfortune. Yes, I'm still alive. It grieves me to disappoint you so, but there is no going around it. The Earth loves me still and greatly. I spent enough time pressed up against her supple surface during my last fight to feel no doubts in that area. Also, she is not the only one; the maidens of Whitby seem not to have any objection to me at all. Speaking of which, have you worked out things with your maiden yet? That whole episode had to sting some._

 _Have you caught that bandit yet? Knowing your skills, I bet that he's caught you. If this is, in fact, the bandit reading this note, then please be kind enough to tell Will that he's an idiot for me. If this is actually Will reading this then—you're still an idiot._

 _Things have gotten much less boring since my last letter. I was not joking about leaving my impression in the dirt. I ended up having to settle quite a large and nasty 'every man for himself' tavern brawl. Things got a bit ugly for a while until I managed to find success, by which I mean I won the tavern brawl. That's where the maidens I spoke of earlier found their affections for me, since I may have saved their lives in the process of stopping that fight._

 _Speaking of girls, my advice to you, if you have not yet worked things out on your own, would just be honesty. Tell Alyss the truth. She's a smart woman and she'll listen. Also she probably trusts you as much as you trust her. If you're honest she'll know and believe you. Just don't put it off for too long; the longer you wait the harder it will be to fix it._

 _I've found that scarecrows actually give pretty good advice to mangy half-wit crows sometimes, so I suppose the same might work for you and I._

 _Forever cursing your name,_

 _-Gilan_

 ** _~x~_**

 _Dear Gilan,_

 _I'm writing this from my bed, from which I have been so rudely informed by the healers, I will not be allowed to leave for at least three days. Do you remember that bandit we were talking about? Well… he got me. I don't know how, but I'm pretty sure it's your fault. So, in light of that revelation, I have decided to hope, wish, and pray fervently that you will get a bandit of your very own._

 _You know, you actually are not too shabby at giving advice, not only about how best to make up with Alyss, but also about what you said about the maidens really going after you when you save their lives. You see, I was escorting Alyss back from a neighboring fief when the highwayman I have been hunting, attacked. He shot at Alyss and Tug only sensed his presence, and I only saw the bolt coming, just quickly enough to shove her out of the way. I took the hit for her, and got shot through the thigh. After that is a bit of a blur, but I remember that we were both able to take the bandit down. My highwayman, as I've affectionately named him, won't be robbing highways any longer._

 _Don't tell Alyss I said this, but this whole, saving her life business has smoothed things over even more than I was able to do by apologizing. She's hardly left my side. Being wounded, contrary to reason, doesn't have to be all that bad. Though now that I mention it, I'm beginning to feel sad for you: never having been truly fawned over by a beautiful woman before. Don't feel too badly, you can't help being so ugly._

 _Yours most disrespectfully_

 _-Will_

 ** _~x~_**

 _Dear Will,_

 _How are you? Surrounded by bandits, hunted by assassins or otherwise on the run from misfortune I hope. I received that bandit you so kindly wished for me to have and it cost me a whole two days of hiking around marshland with nothing to cheer me but cold rations to catch him. For this, I should wish at least five others back, but we can't all be as malignant as you. Instead I shall just wait for you to get yourself banished from Araluen. It won't be long until everyone else gets as sick of you as I am._

 _You were shot? Are you doing alright? Better than before, I hope... but judging by the contents of your last letter you don't sound like you're too bad off. I'm glad you caught your man, and glad things are going well again with you and Alyss. I hope you'll be back to your full strength soon_ : _the world wouldn't know what to do with itself if you weren't there to terrorize its every waking moment with your cringe-worthy presence. I'm actually surprised that you don't get shot at more often, when you walk around with a face like yours._

 _Yours most insincerely,_

 _-Gilan_

The letters continued on that way, full of back and forth banter and totally unserious insults in the beginnings and conclusions. The middles, however, tended to be much more sincere in their manner, detailing adventures, making humorous observations or complaints, asking for the other's opinion or for help with some problem or another. There were quite a few occasions that they both made completely random observations, such as in a letter Halt found towards the middle of the stack.

 _Do you remember that one strategy problem at the Gathering that we couldn't solve to our satisfaction?_ Will had asked in one of his letters. _Well, I finally figured it out. The key was to use the infantry as a diversionary tactic, like you thought, but then what we needed to do was split the cavalry force in half so one group could advance with the infantry to strengthen it , whilst the other flanked the enemy from the right._

To which Gilan had replied, _Oh, that's brilliant! Too bad we didn't think of it at the time._

What made it amusing to Halt was the fact that The Gathering they had spoken of had happened no less than six months prior to Will's letter. Another point of amusement for Halt was the fact that in every letter, it appeared as if the two young Rangers were having a contest to see who could sign their name in the most flourishing and pompous manner.

Halt was familiar with most the adventures Will chronicled, but it was interesting to read them from his point of view, and interesting to know what Gilan had been up to. It was in this manner that Halt spent the whole first part of the afternoon relatively entertained. As he made his way nearer and nearer to the bottom of the stack, he began to be grudgingly impressed that his two former apprentices had yet to run out of insults and jibes.

Another aspect he found entertaining was the mentions of missions and cases that were troubling. Halt had always had a bit of an affinity for puzzles; one of the things that was a bit of a side effect of an inquisitive mind. He enjoyed trying to solve the problems before he read the letter where the other gave their opinion and suggestions, if they had any, or the letter when the one who had the problem solved it themselves. Those letters he looked forward to because he rather enjoyed seeing if he had guessed rightly, or if the solution his two apprentices had come up with were similar to his own, more effective, or more successful than his would have been.

It was because of this that he was more than slightly disappointed when he reached the bottom of the stack, not only because he had reached the last letter, but also because its contents had caught his attention and he wanted to know more. What intrigued him so much was partially the fact that it was a problem without a fixed solution. But mostly, it was because the circumstances and facts given in the letter were interesting and slightly odd.

Frowning, Halt absently placed both elbows on the table and brought both hands to rest under his chin as he stared at the letter in question. His expression grew thoughtful as he read through it again.

 _Dear Will,_

 _I am only writing back because I feel culturally obligated to do so. Apparently our society considers it extremely rude not to return a letter, and I will never have it said that I am rude. Though I honestly don't know why I even bother; It's not as if you can understand, let alone read properly, the contents of this letter. But don't take your minimal intelligence too harshly, and don't let it keep you alone. I'm sure there are several people who understand that it is not too uncommon for a young man to be burdened with a wit-dulling mental affliction such as yours. I'm sure that they will tolerate your presence, even if it is grudgingly._

 _All formalities aside, I have recently made myself look more the fool that even you could manage_ — _if that is at all possible. Whitby, as you know, is practically in the center of Araluen and so is a major route for trade. Smuggling is not exactly what you would call uncommon. So I was unsurprised to hear news of bribed officials from an off duty soldier. I managed to track the rumors by eavesdropping on, and tailing, a few thugs. All the information I gathered led me to suspect a particular caravan of about three wagons. So I set up an ambush and stopped them on the road the night they were leaving the city._

 _The thing is, I was so sure it was them. I was positive they were transporting illegal goods. I was even fairly sure what those goods were; the soldier I had first talked to had thought he had overheard mentions of plants or spices. There is a pretty heavy tariff on some imported spices, making them high on the list of black market goods._

 _So I stopped them and forced them to let me search their wagons—pretty crudely made things with dirty canvas tops and badly made wheels. Nothing on them looked as if they had been crafted by any person worthy of the trade. I searched every inch of those wagons, first for illegal goods, and when that turned up nothing, for hidden compartments under floorboards or under the driver's seat and found nothing._

 _Since I found no evidence, I had to let them go. I looked quite the fool because of it. And I had been so certain that I was right. All the facts and evidence led there. But if the goods weren't in the wagon, then they didn't have them. They had no time to dump them before I was on them, and they never came back to retrieve them from some hidden cash. Also, I know they couldn't have sold or gotten rid of all their product in Whitby. I checked the market. And one of the conversations I overheard led me to believe that their biggest transaction was yet to come. I have no idea where I went wrong, but intend to find out. Let it be known that there is almost nothing worse than looking stupid and then getting nothing to show for it. I hope you're having a better time of it._

 _Forever slandering you,_

 _-Gilan_

Halt stared at the letter a little longer. Gilan's dilemma did indeed present an interesting problem. Gilan had a good head on his shoulders and good instincts. If he thought that those people were the smugglers, then chances were good that he was right. So the question was, what happened to the goods, and how had they given Gilan the slip. It was an interesting puzzle that claimed his attention for several minutes as he tried to answer the question using the evidence Gilan had provided and conjecture, but could think of nothing probable.

Halt taped the paper thoughtfully. There was something about how Gilan had described the wagons that was tugging at the corner of his mind, pointing him towards a memory that he could not place at the moment. But, as was usually the case, the more he tried to focus on that blurred memory, the more it seemed to slip further away.

He stilled the motion of his hand, frustrated. He wondered abruptly what Will thought of the whole fiasco, but he could not find so much as a note page, let alone a rough draft. When he thought back to how rushed Will had been the day he left, he guessed that Will simply hadn't had the time to make a final draft and so had just sent his rough draft that day. Still turning the problem over in his mind, he prepared a meal for himself and, after cleaning up, decided to retire for the night.

He had been asleep for no more than two hours when he was awakened by the sound of hoofbeats approaching the cabin in the trees at a rapid pace. Years of training and experience kicked in immediately. Halt jerked fully awake and reached for his weapons, his senses on high alert as he readied for some form of danger.

Then he faintly heard the sound of Abelard nickering a greeting to the horse of the approaching rider. Halt relaxed slightly then, secure in the knowledge that the other rider was either another Ranger or a friend. The hoof beats stopped abruptly as the rider reined in and dismounted. Hurried steps headed for the cabin and up the few steps leading to the veranda. Halt relaxed fully then, for the gait of the person in question was familiar.

He lit the light in the cabin's center room just as his midnight visitor rapped impatiently on the cabin door. Halt pulled it open, unsurprised to see Gilan standing there. However, what did surprise him, or rather concern him, was the expression on his face. There was not even the slightest trace of a smile. There was a worried yet determined look in his eyes and he looked more than a little disheveled. Something was definitely wrong. If Gilan's expression and condition didn't tell him that, then the simple fact of his arrival should have done that well enough. Ranger's didn't leave their appointed fiefs and then go riding through the middle of the night without reason, and good reason at that.

"Gilan," Halt greeted, "what's going on?"

"I think Will is in trouble."

 **~x~X~x~**

Will was trapped. There was no getting around it. He was stuck in the center of an enemy camp. He knew that, as it was now—in the center of a clearing and in broad daylight—there was almost no chance of him being able to slip past all the bandits and camp guards without being seen. He also knew that it would only been a matter of time before his flimsy hiding spot, and therefore he, would be discovered. Worst of all was the fact that he had no clear idea of how he had wound up in this mess in the first place.

He had arrived at the meeting spot detailed in the bandit's letter about four days previous and had spent most his time scouting the area. It was a clearing in the middle of the woods that was cut through by a small river. On the fifth day, he had watched as two wagons and two small groups of bandits arrived. Shortly after, they began negotiations with each other and a bargeman and her crew who had landed their craft on the bank of the small river. Will had left the safety of the woods then and had proceeded cautiously forwards, bow at the ready.

All told, there had been about ten men. It was a number that he had been confident that he could handle. There was some thick brush that stretched from the tree line to about a fourth of the way into the clearing along the river's bank. By moving along the river bank with the tangled stretch of overgrowth, he had been able to stay well out of sight. It had been his intention to move forwards until he would be close enough to them to identify himself as a King's Ranger and demand their surrender in the King's name.

As he was moving into position however, he had noticed motion at the other side of the clearing. He had frozen in place, and watched, surprised, as no less than four wagons began advancing across the field to join the other three. Will had stopped then, realizing that he had grossly underestimated these men in regard to their numbers. What he had expected to be a small gathering of bandits—no more than ten—had turned into a rather huge meeting of close to thirty.

Even the aura of fear and mystery that surrounded a Ranger would not allow him, a single man, to subdue thirty. It had turned into a much bigger problem than he had anticipated and he had known that he would need help. He had just decided to go back and head to a relatively near-by soldier's garrison and village to get some, when some instinct made him turn.

He did not know why or what had caused it—perhaps it had been some small yet out of place noise—but he looked behind him just in time to see another barge heading down the river. The semi-large craft was just about to round the bend. He could tell at a glance that this one's crew was about ten strong. Cursing, he had realized that he was trapped in between two forces. He had also known that if either of those two forces saw him he would be done for. There was no way he could fight through so many and, simultaneously, no way an operation of this magnitude would ever dream of keeping a loose end, such as himself, alive if they caught him.

The large clumsy watercraft began rounding the bend, and Will knew he would never make it to the safety of the forest. Nor could he jump to the other side of the hedge without being seen by the bandits in the clearing. So, in the split second before the barge had rounded the bend fully, he had done the only thing he could. He used the scant shrub he was near as a last ditch effort for covering, as he merged with it.

The shrub bushes were rather gangly and would never have provided enough cover to shield a normal man and he had known it. But he had also known that he had an asset that a normal man did not have, his Ranger cloak.

 _"Trust the cloak,_ " the old Ranger mantra that Halt had drilled into him had rung through his mind. So he had wrapped himself in the folds of his cloak and held completely still underneath the scant covering of his bush that was, by pure misfortune, the furthest one out into the field.

All that had led to where he was crouched now, trapped. So far, his training and his cloak had kept him from being discovered—despite the fact that he was practically sitting out in the open. Perhaps Gilan was right about him having a strange affinity for finding all manner of danger, he thought ruefully as he watched the second barge make landing behind the first one.

By now, the others had already spread out around the field to make camp and station guards. He was completely surrounded on almost all sides. He felt that customary butterfly feeling of pent up nerves, which usually assailed him before a mission, assail him even more strongly than before. He was like a fly trapped in the center of a spider's web, and the only thing keeping him alive was the mere fact that the spider did not yet know of his presence… but it would only be a matter of time until they did.

Will shook his head inwardly. They hadn't seen him yet and there was no reason to think that any of them suddenly would. He tried to calm himself. All he needed to do was stay still until nightfall and, under cover of darkness, he would be able to make his escape, get the help he needed, and finally stop the bandits. He could do it. He could get through this. Besides, he thought to himself, he was in so very deep now that the only way it could possibly be any worse for him was if he were to be spotted…

But he was wrong.

He felt his heart sink as he looked back at the barge and saw that the last man to disembark didn't do it alone. He had three war dogs following him on heavy leashes. War dogs, Will knew, were bred for the sole purpose of hunting down and killing anyone who their owners deemed a threat. And so they were now Will's biggest threat. If the dogs caught his scent and alerted their owners to his presence, he was done for. He felt his skin grow suddenly cold.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I'm an aspiring writer who really likes to learn how I can improve my work; so feedback is more than appreciated. Don't hesitate to let me know if you see any mistakes that I can better. Funny thing is, I've honestly learned more writing fanfiction then I ever learned in a classroom setting. Next chapter should be out in a week if all goes well and school doesn't eat me alive (fingers crossed). If not, it should be out in two weeks at the latest. Thanks again!

 **Question:** Is anyone else super excited about the new book?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **A/N:** I am really sorry about the wait. I had a nasty busy week of projects and midterms/quarter tests. In fact, I still do have another four weeks of all this nonsense (huge projects) to go through yet. I tried my best despite that, but was still late. Hope this chapter comes to making up for the wait. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed or favorited—it means alot.

 **Katy Fairfax:** Thank you for your kind words! It really brightened my day to read. I'm really glad you like it so far. I hope you didn't die waiting so long, I am sorry about that.

 **Lala the Screaming Fangirl:** Thanks for the compliment! it was very encouraging! I hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint.

 **CrazedFangirl13:** It took a lot of devious plotting to come up with the premise XD I hope this is soon enough for you. Thanks for the encouragement.

 **Saraku:** Thank you for kind words and compliment, you have no idea how encouraging it is to read. Thanks also for the correction. Though I do try (sometimes) I can't seem help writing cliffhangers. Thanks again *salutes back*

 **whentheresawill:** I'm glad you liked it. Your review made my day too, so I think we're even now XD

 **TrustTheCloak:** I'm glad it came off the way I planned- There's almost nothing worse than trying to write something funny and then not having it take. (I don't want to end up being the Baron Arald of fanfiction.) I haven't gotten the new book yet, but I want to read it so badly! Thanks for the review!

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Of all the things that Halt would have expected Gilan to say, what he had said, he honestly expected the least.

"What?" he found himself asking as he stepped aside to allow his anxious former apprentice in. He felt a sinking feeling in his heart as he did so.

"I think Will could be in trouble," Gilan repeated, "Serious trouble."

As soon as they were both inside, Gilan thrust a paper towards Halt, who took it, and brought it up close to the lantern light in order to see what it was. It didn't take long for him to recognize the writing as Will's. At the same time, he realized that this was the letter that he had seen Will writing the day he had left.

"Will and I have been writing each other for a while," Gilan said and Halt nodded. "I've been in the middle of trying to track smugglers in Whitby," Gilan continued.

Halt nodded again. "The ones with the missing cargo."

"You've been reading our letters?" Gilan asked surprised, a faint smile etching its way across his face for the first time that night. "I didn't know you cared so much."

Halt glared at him and Gilan grew serious again as he continued onwards.

"I seemed to be at a dead end until I read Will's letter and found a connection between something he said and my own experience."

As Gilan said it, Halt scanned the contents of the letter in question.

 _Dear Gilan,_

 _By now you should have realized that nobody ever wants to know your opinion, least of all me. As for being mentally hindered, at least that would be preferable to being despised by all society—like you. You, my so called friend, are a blight on mankind and should go live with the wargols, where you belong. You deserve each other, and your departure from civilized society would lighten the world considerably._

 _That sounds like a bit of a conundrum. I'm glad I'm not in your boots at the moment. I could never afford to look so foolish. But since it's you we are talking about, I wouldn't be too embarrassed. Idiot has become so much a part of your character that people honestly don't expect that much from you anymore._

 _But, in all seriousness, if you just missed something then you still have a chance to figure out what it is. I know that Halt would say to just take a step back and look at it again from a different angle. If you are too tangled in certain aspect, you sometimes cannot see the full picture. I know you probably already know this, but sometimes it helps to be reminded. I wish I could help more but I can't at the moment, I am just about to go after some bandits of my own._

 _I had gotten word of some suspicious activity on the main road at night and tracked the wagon in question from a known smuggler's site. One of their horses had an odd gait so it was fairly easy to track. I tailed them all the way to the spot where they abandoned their wagon. One of its wheels had shattered. It was a roughly handmade thing that was crafted so poorly that it wasn't even totally solid on the inside of the outer rims. It was a wonder it hadn't broken sooner. You'd think that smugglers would be able to afford the services of a decent wheelwright, but perhaps they were not very good at their job. Anyway, when I caught up to the bandits and arrested them, I found some correspondences on their person_ — _from what looked like two other groups_ — _outlining a meeting spot and time. I should be able to get their before the rest do and stop them. Wish me good fortune so that I don't end up looking as foolish as you. If I come up with any ideas regarding your dilemma on the road, I'll let you know._

 _Your truest enemy,_

 _-Will_

Halt looked up and fixed Gilan with a steady gaze.

"Where do you see the connection?" he asked, though he suspected that he might have an idea. As before, there was something about the wagons that stuck out to him, trying to claim his attention.

"The cart wheels Will mentioned, they're the key to it all."

As Gilan said it, Halt felt his gaze narrow slightly with understanding.

"The smugglers I stopped had rather crudely made wheels too, wider than normal. At the time I just attributed it to poor craftsmanship, like Will. And I kept thinking that way until I read Will's letter and saw the similarities. When he mentioned how the shattered wheel he had found had rims that were not completely solid, I realized how they had given me the slip the first time, how they had hidden the cargo, why I hadn't found it."

"They hid it in the wagon wheels," Halt said, the barest trace of a frown touching the corners of his mouth.

Gilan nodded, "It's the only place that nobody would think to look, including me," he said ruefully, looking annoyed at himself. "It's the only way they could have done it."

"And cargo like spices could be easily secured in a place like that," Halt mused but then frowned deeper. "The problem is that it's insufficient. There's no way they could transport enough to make a worthwhile profit."

"That's exactly what I thought. So I thought back to what the soldier had told me, he said 'plants or spices or something of the like,' he wasn't definite. From there, I got to thinking, what if they weren't spices at all, but rather some type of plants that could perhaps be used a narcotics or hallucinogens? They would fetch a price high enough for such a small amount to be profitable."

"That answers the problem of your smugglers, but what does this have to do with Will being in danger?"

"When I knew what they were transporting, I knew where to look in Whitby for someone who bought from them. They wouldn't have bothered bribing officials if they didn't sell something—not when they had hiding spots like they did. I found an apothecary who had bought from them and persuaded him to give me information. He was able to lead me to some bargemen who knew where the big cargo pick up spot was—by which I mean they were headed there before I stopped them. Funny how all these people seem to know each other.

"But this is how I know Will is in trouble. He is after the same group of smugglers and, if I'm right, heading straight for their meeting spot. But the meeting spot isn't just for a couple of these smugglers. It was supposed to be a huge meeting of nine wagons total and now two barges. Will is on his way to a highly organized smugglers camp of close to forty men and he doesn't even know it."

Before Gilan had even finished speaking Halt had already grasped the implications. It was, of course, possible that Will had avoided the situation entirely or had found a way through it. But neither Halt nor Gilan, who was now practically pacing with impatience, wanted to take the risk. If Gilan was right, then the chances were good that Will was in deep water, more than good actually.

"Saddle Abelard for me while I get supplies," Halt said shortly, placing Will's letter on top of the others.

Gilan gave him a tight lipped smile then and hurried out the door.

"I trust you know where the meeting spot is," Halt said as he and Gilan cantered away from the cabin, using the light of the full moon as they rode.

Halt had a pretty fair idea where it was from the briefing Will had given him before he left, but he hoped Gilan's idea was a bit more detailed.

"I know where to find them," Gilan replied, his voice low, as he stared resolutely ahead of him.

"You said you got information from an apothecary who had bought from them," Halt pointed out as they rode, "But you never told me exactly what type of narcotic or hallucinogenic they are trying to smuggle."

Gilan looked pained, "It isn't good, Halt."

 **~x~X~x~**

Will was in a foul mood. During the hours he had spent crouching awkwardly and unmoving, he had gotten no less than two cramps. Also, during that time no less than three bandits had wandered dangerously close to his bush in order to answer the call of nature. And, thinking of that, he quite wished by now that he had not drunk so much from his own water-skin earlier. But what was by far the worst was the feeling of dread that he might yet be discovered. That feeling had, by now made, itself a constant companion, worrying away at his insides.

Gradually, the sun began to sink towards the horizon. Still he crouched, waiting for darkness so he could slip away un-noticed into the shadows. One small piece of solace was that the war dogs he had noticed earlier had so far been kept at the furthest point from his hiding spot.

As the light began to abate further, so did the twisting feeling of dread. It allowed him the chance to think. This was obviously a highly organized and expansive group, nothing like he had at all expected or prepared for.

He had watched them take their product out from where they had hidden them: in the wagon wheels of all places. His thoughts had flown back to the shattered wheel he had found several days ago as he finally grasped the implications behind it. From there, they had put whatever it was they were transporting—it looked to be some spice or herb—into small crates which they stacked near the barges, not too far from where he crouched.

A gentle breeze blew through and carried the scent of whatever spice or herb was in the crates very faintly to his nose. At that distance, he could not fully make out what it was; but, for some reason, an involuntary shudder ran down his spine. He suddenly began to feel more uneasy than before. The scent, faint as it was, seemed to bring back some fragmented memory of foreboding.

It was as he was trying to search his mind to place the memory and its accompanying feeling, that the man, who appeared to be the leader of the smugglers and the two barge captains wandered past, very near to his bush and the pile of crates.

"We'll have the cargo loaded aboard before dark, so you can leave under cover of darkness. The moon should be fairly full tonight. It'll give you enough light to steer by so you can be well away come morning."

"This is probably the last time we should use this meeting spot or route," One of the bargemen said. 'We've drawn too much attention from the soldiers and, worse, the Rangers. The one in Whitby came far too close to discovering us; I doubt we'd be able to get past that one again. And the Ranger of Redmont has been little better. If we want to continue getting profit from this endeavor, we either need to completely change routes or lay low for a while. You can rest assured that the soldiers, Rangers, and king would not be pleased to find out our cargo. They take a special disdain to items that benefit the slave trade."

"I know," the smuggler replied, "If we want to keep on, we need to lay low for a while. I'd hate to lose all the profit we get from the warmweed... And that's not even to mention what would happen if we were caught."

The man said more but Will did not hear it. His whole mind seemed to freeze at the mention of that single word: warmweed. The mention of its name was the mention of the memories of one of the darkest periods of his life. No wonder the faint scent he had caught earlier had whispered of foreboding—like the chilling wind that runs before a storm.

He took a silent breath in an attempt to reclaim his thoughts. Warmweed, they were smuggling warmweed. And they were leaving shortly after dark. This information put a whole new dark twist on things. Will would never be able to leave and get help until nightfall himself. By the time he would make it to the soldiers' garrison and back again the smugglers and bargemen would be gone.

Warmweed could be used medicinally, it was true. But the smugglers conversation left little doubt that this was not what they intended to do with it.

Not only would the smugglers escape justice, but that huge supply of warmweed would be shipped out to the markets of slavers. From there it would be used to fetter the minds of once free thinking people until they were nothing more but empty husks of themselves, empty of all thought, of all hope, of that spark of life that made someone human. The only thing they would have any conscious thought or desire for, would be the very drug that made them that way. They would be turned into nothing but mindless animals, lost in addiction—animals who lived only to work in the blank numbness that existed somewhere in the space between life and death until they faded away.

He knew it. He knew it because he had lived it. He remembered what it felt like. He remembered, and in that moment he lost the feeble control he had over his thoughts as his mind was plunged back into reliving the terror. For a moment, only this fearsome memory claimed every waking part of himself, until its grip was shattered by a wave of pulsing anger.

That anger filled his thoughts and brought him back to himself with a wave of clarity. How dare those men think that any amount of payment could be worth the life of so many people? How dare they bandy words about carefulness and profit when their goods would take the lives of so many—people with thoughts and dreams of their own? How could they even be considered human themselves after that?

He was furious with them, furious at the horrid plant they so prized, and furious at himself because he could do nothing to stop them. The drug would leave with the bargemen long before he could come back with help, to doom the lives of many… unless... He felt his eyes widen with a sudden purpose—unless they had no product left to transport.

He felt the familiar feeling he got when an idea hung not quite fully formed in his mind, just slightly out of reach. Maybe he could destroy the warmweed and still get away unseen. That way, even if he could not bring back help in time capture the smugglers, no innocent people would be destroyed because of it.

Halt had always counseled patience, to wait and watch for as long as possible before acting. But, the way he saw it, he didn't have the time for patience. He had only two options. Either the smugglers would get away, but without their product, or they would still get away, along with their goods. Though he had only considered all the implications for the briefest of moments, already he had committed himself to a path. He was going to do something really stupid.

He slowly caught hold of his half formed idea as he scanned the crates in question. By then, the sun was already beginning to skim the horizon. He watched silently as the lead smuggler and the two bargemen headed slowly to where the other men were gathered, presumably to get them organized in order to load the cargo.

If he was going to act, it had to be now. The shadows of early evening had begun to stretch across his position. It would provide him with sufficient cover to the relatively short distance to the crates. Moving with the shadows, he managed to secret himself behind the stack of small crates. At that distance, the scent of the pungent dried plant material was easily recognizable and made him feel slightly sick. Looking around, he set his gaze upon something near the crates that he had noticed earlier, several bottles of fine wine. Stealthily, he grabbed a few of theses and began soaking the near perfect tinder of the dried wood of the crates and loose dry plant material. Hurriedly, he then took out his flint and drew his throwing knife in order to create some sparks.

Once he got a small spark grounded in the tinder, he blew gently on it to breathe it to life. It didn't take long for the tinder's flame to come into contact with the alcohol soaked weed and wooden boxes. The whole pile flared up with a soft whooshing sound. The flames licked hungrily. Will knew then that there was no risk of it going out. After assuring himself of that, he began to back away. He moved carefully back to the cover of the brush and rushes that grew parallel to the river bank.

He was mere meters away from the cover of the brush when everything went wrong. One of the smuggler's war dogs must have caught the out of place scent of pungent smoke brought on by the burning herbs. Snarling, he caught the attention of his two fellow dogs and his handler.

"Fire!" the cry was torn from several throats and passed through the smugglers as they raced forwards to save their precious cargo.

In the chaos of it all, Will might have managed to get away unnoticed, had the three war dogs not been set free of their leashes. The vicious animals immediately set off after Will's foreign scent, passing the running men with ease in order to bring him down.

Will heard the sound of their running paws and his blood ran cold. In a smooth continuous motion he unslung his bow, tuned to face behind him, nocked an arrow and fired at the closest canine. Within seconds, another of his arrows was speeding away towards the second. He had just nocked a third arrow when the last remaining war dog was on him.

It leaped into the air, jaws wide and slavering. It bowled into Will and knocked him to the ground. The beast's mouth flashed open in a blood chilling snarl as he lowered his head blindingly fast towards Will's throat.

Will just managed to bring his bow across his body and the beast's jaws snapped shut on the polished wood. It took almost all his strength to hold back the snapping mouth, sharp teeth and writhing body. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, the massive animal, using all its enraged strength and better purchase and position, began to push Will's arms and the flimsy barrier of his bow further and further back towards his body, towards his vulnerable neck.

Will grit his teeth. Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes went wide with desperation that was soon replaced with desperate inspiration as he decided to try something. If he didn't do something the dog would eventually either overpower him or break his bow. Either way, the result would be the same. The dog drew back suddenly, before lunging forwards again in a renewed attack. Will felt the pressure lessen as the animal reared back. He let go of his hold on the bow with one hand and shot that arm down towards his left side, his hand closing around the hilt of his knife. Quickly, he brought his arm back upwards with the speed of a striking snake. He did this all in the milliseconds it took for the dog to lunge forwards again.

The animal howled in pain as its furious lunge took it directly into the path of Will's upraised saxe. The dog fell limply to the side with a soft whimper. Will withdrew his knife from the beast, ready to rise to his feet and run again, before he froze. During his scuffle with the war dogs, several of the smugglers had taken the opportunity to catch up to his position and surround him. He lay still, faced with the sight of no less than eight weapons pointed at his prone form. Slowly, he let his saxe drop to the ground.

 **~x~X~x~**

Gilan and Halt crouched at the edge of the smuggler's clearing, silently surveying the scene before them. The majority of the bandits, about thirty five of them, were in the middle of the clearing arrayed around camp fires. The last five were currently onboard one of the beached barges. Those five were surrounding another figure that was tied to that craft's somewhat flimsy mast. The two Rangers made eye contact, exchanging a silent look, before melting back into the tree line. They moved back, intent upon meeting with the garrison captain and his troop waiting for them about twenty meters back into the trees. They had some planning to do. Not only was the capture of the bandits hinging upon their next move, so was Will's life.

 **~x~X~x~**

Will looked up into the eyes of the furious smuggler who stood before him. His arms ached horribly from where the ropes that bound him to the barge's mast dug into his wrists. His hands were tingling slightly because of the cut off blood flow.

"How much is known about us?" the smuggler demanded roughly.

It was the third time that he had asked the same question. Once again, Will chose to hold his tongue. He met the man's cold eyes, glare for glare.

"Do any of the other Rangers know of our location? Do any of the king's soldiers or knights know?" He yelled angrily, spittle flying into Will's face.

Will didn't react at all. He didn't even blink. Growling with rage, the smuggler's leader swung a vicious closed-fisted blow towards his captive's face. Will left out a soft grunt of pain as it connected. Still he said nothing, ignoring the blood that dribbled down his chin

"Stop wasting your time," The barge captain said to the leader of the smugglers. "He's not going to tell you anything."

"But…" The smuggler leader began to protest furiously as he whirled to face the barge captain.

But the bargeman cut him off. "If the other Rangers and the knights and soldiers knew about us, do you think that this one would have risked himself like he did? No he wouldn't have," he answered his own question. "I think it's safe to assume that he's alone and that he didn't know much about us before he came, otherwise he would have brought reinforcements. If he had, we would have long since been in trouble. Our best course of action now would be to just finish him off and get out of here with the small amount of warmweed we managed to salvage."

The smuggler's leader took a step back, the blind rage clearing some form his eyes as he saw the truth and good sense in the barge captain's words. Then his eyes grew suddenly cold and suddenly cruel.

"You're right," he said finally, "but he should do more than just die for all the profit and trouble he's cost us."

"You can't risk making a mess of him," the bargeman protested, "we don't have time and that will just increase the risk, speed, and determination of pursuit, even more so than if we just killed him cleanly."

But the smuggler's leader brushed that aside, "I wasn't thinking of making a mess of him, or even killing him outright for that matter…" he paused. "I was thinking of using the warmweed on him," he finished in a low voice.

Will felt himself start in shock and horror at the sound of the suggestion. He felt an involuntary shudder run down his spine even as a hand seemed to clutch at his heart. He tried to quickly cover his reaction, but was seconds too late. Both the bargeman and smuggler saw his unwitting response to the cruel proposal. The smuggler leader's smile grew in both size and malevolence as he registered it.

"You know what it does, don't you, Ranger?" he sneered at Will before turning to the barge captain. "If we give him an overdose of the drug and leave him here, it will distract any pursuers, be it the Rangers or the soldiers, when they find him. They'd waste precious time trying to save him while we get further and further out of their reaches. And the best part is that he will simply die from the withdraw before they could save him. There is no one with a supply of the drug anywhere near here except for us, and we'll be long gone by then. He will die in agony whist giving us the precious time we need to get away."

This time it was the barge captain's turn to see the good sense in the proposed plan. Simultaneously, the two leaders turned towards the three men standing behind them.

"Go get me one of the crates that wasn't destroyed by the fire." The leader of the smugglers pointed at one of them.

The man left to do his bidding, quickly returning with one of the crates. The smuggler's leader took it from him and strode towards Will. Will watched horrified as the man lifted the lid and retracted a bundle of the dried herbs. He held it between thumb and forefinger as he advanced on Will.

Will stared wide eyed at the man in front of him, his whole body frozen with a sense of nightmare, paralyzed with a feeling of disbelief. This couldn't be happening... But it was. He was going to lose everything he ever was, everything he ever thought, everything that made him, him, he realized with blinding clarity. It would be just like before, only this time there would be no hope of recovery, no one who could pull him back from the brink before it would be too late.

He felt his body begin to tremble, his heart beat frantically in his chest, and his throat burn with the overwhelming tide of emotion. No! He couldn't ever go through that again. He just couldn't. He couldn't relive that nightmare, he wouldn't.

"No!" he cried aloud, his voice rough.

He struggled with everything he had against his bonds. Where he had before been carefully and painstakingly trying to stretch the ropes and ease the knots that bound his wrists, now he pulled wildly on the restraints. He struggled, heedless of all patience and carefulness. He felt blood begin to drip down his hands from where the rough hemp cords dug into the flesh of his wrists.

Still the smuggler came forwards. Will turned his face away; pushing his head as far back as it would go. But it was not far enough. The man gripped him by his hair, forcing his head back.

"Time for you to say goodbye, Ranger," The man said quietly, smugly, as he brought the herbs close to Will's face- so close that the overpowering scent filled his nose and senses. Will knew then that it was over for him.

Suddenly, a green and grey cloaked figure seemed to materialize to the left and slightly behind where Will was bound. The figure moved forwards with alarming speed, bringing the hilt of the sword he carried crashing down upon the smuggler's head. He did this before the smuggler's leader, momentarily frozen with shock and surprise, could think to try and avoid the blow.

"Goodbye, I suppose," The cloaked figure addressed the fallen bandit, before moving to stand protectively in front of Will.

"Gilan," Will gasped in a rush of blessed relief and gratitude. Instinctively he knew what had happened, but logically he did not know how that it had. Obviously Gilan had found out about his plight and had used his skill as the Ranger corps undisputed master of unseen movement to get aboard the barge without notice. But he had no idea how that had all come about. Not that he really cared in that moment. It only mattered that he was there. Will found himself beginning to breathe normally again. He practically sagged against the mast in relief. But it wasn't over yet.

He watched as Gilan pointed his sword at the four remaining men onboard the barge.

"King's Ranger," he said calmly, "I suggest you drop your weapons and surrender."

"All forty of us, surrender to one man?" The barge captain asked.

"Whatever gave you the impression that I'm part of a one-man attack force?" Gilan asked.

The barge captain had the sense to look a little worried at that. It turned out to be good policy for, no sooner had Gilan finished speaking, then the sounds of battle became clearly heard in the clearing.

"No!" the bargeman cried in furious outrage. He drew his sword, swinging a vicious overhand blow at Gilan. He reckoned that he might have the advantage of a surprise attack since a sword wasn't a Ranger's weapon. The tall Ranger simply deflected the blow with ease. And, without any further preamble, he launched into the attack with the control and the fluidity of a master swordsman.

The barge captain found himself hard-pressed to try and parry or block all the Ranger's strikes. He found himself desperately seeking for a break or a slip in Gilan's guard but there was none. Gilan's sword thrusts and cuts were all economical, well timed, and fast. His sword never strayed far from his body or his guard position and left no opening.

In the end it was the Ranger who found an opening. One of Gilan's strikes made it through the bargeman's guard. His sword darted forwards blindingly fast and bit flesh. The bargeman slumped to the deck with a howl of pain, clutching his badly injured left leg, well and truly out of the fight.

Gilan turned to face the other three bandits who had been using the distraction of the fight to try and flank him. He engaged the closest man to him, both his and the bandit's swords touching together as they tested each other's skill. Though Gilan kept his main focus on that man, he kept tabs on the other two in his periphery. He saw one of them edging towards his side. Gilan pushed back the bandit he was currently trading blows with and turned. He disabled the one to the side by kicking hard at his inside of his knee in a well positioned movement whist he blocked that one's sword swipe. The bandit howled with agony as he found his leg no longer able to support his weight.

He turned back to the first man just in time to deflect a thrust. The third bandit had been stealthy making his way behind the tall Ranger. Gilan, aware of this, was just about to leap to the side to switch positions when Will shouted two words.

"Gilan, drop!"

Gilan did so without hesitation. He dropped to the deck just as the man behind him drew back to thrust forward. His sword sliced into the space above Gilan's head and straight into the chest of the first bandit.

While Gilan was down low he kicked the third man's legs out from under him and rose to his feet, catlike. The bandit did the same, his arm already up for another attack when Gilan grabbed his sword arm with his free hand by closing the distance between them. Gilan brought the pummel of his sword crashing into a point just under the man's jaw. He slumped unconscious to the deck. Gilan went to find the second man again but he had already abandoned ship in terror, limping away as fast as he could.

The taller Ranger moved then to get behind Will and slash away at his bindings. Will stumbled free of the mast.

"Will, are you alri-" Gilan started to say but lost his breath in an explosive whoosh of air as the smaller Ranger ran headlong into him.

"Thank you," Will whispered, feeling tears of relief and gratitude prickle at his eyes.

For a moment Gilan was at a loss as he still held his sword in one hand. Then he embraced Will back with his free arm. They pulled apart quickly however, turning to face the sounds of combat in the clearing a little ways ahead of them. This wasn't over yet.

"Come on," Gilan said, "Halt and the soldiers from the garrison could probably use a hand. It's too dark to try shooting from here."

Will nodded once; when the light was like this they stood too high a risk of accidentally harming their own men. He was about to follow Gilan when he hesitated.

"You go. I'll catch up. I'm just going to get my weapons back."

Gilan nodded his understanding and leaped easily off the raft to shore and headed towards the sound of battle. Will went to retrieve his weapons from where he had seen the barge captain stash them. When he had them, he was about to follow after Gilan when he hesitated for a second time. The wheels of his mind, which had before been nearly frozen with horror, and shock, began turning again. His gaze focused on the barges themselves, which were little more than glorified rafts in design. He drew his saxe.

When he finally made his way off the raft, he went to make his way over to where Halt and Gilan were directing the garrison troops. A smuggler blocked his path and charged at him with weapon upraised. Will brought his two knifes up and crossed them blocking the bandit's stroke by stopping his sword dead in the wedge that the crossed blades crated. As soon as he had stopped the blade he removed the smaller knife from the block and drove it forwards into the bandit before the man could bring his sword up to block. The man fell to the ground without a sound. Only to be replaced by another smuggler. Will moved to engage that one as well and soon that man fell to join his comrade.

By the time he finally made it to Halt, the majority of the enemy was already starting to surrender. The garrison soldiers moved to surround the smugglers who had dropped their weapons. While this was happening however, a small rebellious group of about ten of the bandits used that as a distraction to break away and head for the barges in an attempt to escape.

Halt's sharp eyes caught the motion. Will saw him draw breath to alert the garrison commander. He brought his bow up into firing position; an arrow seemed to appear on the string. He aimed towards the escaping men but Will stopped him.

"Don't worry," he said softly, "they won't get far."

As he said the words, the bandits reached one of the rafts and shoved off, leaping abroad as they did so. The barge only made it a slight way down the river before the men aboard her raised their voices in cries of alarm. As they watched, the raft slowly began to sink into the water of the river. The bargemen had no choice then but to flounder back ashore, straight into the unloving arms of the garrison soldiers.

"I take it you had something to do with that?" Halt asked with a raised eyebrow, though he nodded silent approval of Will's ingenuity.

Will tipped his head. "I severed most of the ropes holding the logs of their barges in place."

He shifted slightly from foot to foot before he embraced his long time mentor.

"Are you alright?" Halt asked, a gentle note of concern touching his softly accented words.

"I will be, thanks to you and Gilan," Will said honestly, moving back a pace. In all truthfulness, he was still mildly surprised that he was still alive and in complete control of himself. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

Halt gestured towards where Gilan was helping the garrison commander. "You actually have your letters and Gilan to thank for that," he began.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! Only one more chapter left until I finish this little short. I hope it's been a pleasant diversion so far. Let me know if you think there's anything I can improve upon. Thanks again! I hope you all have an amazing rest of the week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Epilogue**

 **A/N:** Here's the final chapter! I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the support, it's really encouraging and motivating. :)

 **Alyss Mainwaring:** Thank you for catching that! I made sure to fix those errors. That's sounds like a truly brilliant story idea you have there, I'd certainly love to read it. Well, I could have made Will take it, and certainly thought about it, but then I had the nasty suspicion that it would end up making this story much longer than a little short X) Thank you for your kind words and for the compliment! It really made my day to read.

 **TrustTheCloak:** Well, it's my opinion that Gilan is a pretty epic guy and therefore pretty much deserves to look awesome XD I'm glad the fight scene came across well, I'm always a bit worried about writing those. Thank you so much for the compliment and for the review!

 **Lala the Screaming Fangirl** : Second that! I've always loved him and his sword work too. It's more than nice to hear you like the book so far. I also love Halt and Will moments, so I couldn't help but add one. Thank you for the review! :)

Also, special thanks to **Aseikh** and **Guest** for your kind reviews!

* * *

 **Epilogue**

Halt, Gilan, and Will had left the smugglers in the care of the garrison soldiers and had eventually made camp.

Will had been unusually silent as they left the clearing and smugglers behind him. The truth was that he couldn't seem to get the scent of warmweed from his nose, from his mind. It was bothering him even more than the slight thoughts of failure that were also plaguing him. This was because he knew that there had been no way for him to foresee the mess he had found himself in. He knew that he had done all he could, and knew that things had turned out alright in the end. Honestly, he did not regret his rather fool hearty actions, he still considered the risk worth it. Consequently, the thoughts of doubts and failure seemed almost easy to move on from, unlike the memories of warmweed.

Even as Halt set the watch and he tried to sleep, he found he still could smell the foul plant, still remember its taste, and almost remember the mindless lust for it. He shuddered and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he felt a sense of unreasonable dread. It had nearly happened again it was true, but it hadn't and it wouldn't. The bandits had all be captured or killed. They were finished.

Also, he could see Halt keeping watch through the night shadows and knew that nothing would get past him. He tried to shake the ugly feeling that had taken hold. He didn't have the patience or the desire to let irritating niggling psychological issues and traumas reassert themselves in his life, he told himself fiercely. He had already moved past all this before. For a while, telling himself that seemed to work.

He turned onto his side and tried to clear his mind so that he could sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes however, the unpleasant memories of the time he had spent in Skandia came flooding back and he couldn't stop them. He felt himself shivering as he opened his eyes to stare out into the night. He bit the inside of his cheek as he continued staring out, finding comfort in the pain for the simple fact that he could feel it, register it, care about it. It meant that he was still alive and that his mind was still his. He drew his arms about himself, still shivering. He realized then that he felt out of touch with himself and separated from everyone and everything around him.

It was that feeling of being alone that kept allowing for the other feelings and memories to continue plaguing him. In that moment, he found he wanted nothing more than the company of another person. He lifted his head slightly to look towards Halt and felt his nerves and emotions calm slightly, just by the sight. Halt had meant comfort, safety, and assurity for so many years. He felt much of the tension drain from him, his shivering calming slightly.

The grizzled Ranger was facing slightly away from Will, his eyes scanning the darkness—a silent sentinel. Will found himself starting to feel safe again—safe but still alone. He looked further to the right and saw Gilan sleeping peacefully on his side, his back to Will.

At the sight of his peacefully sleeping friend, Will could not help but feel again that desire for company, a presence beside... a brother. It was admittedly more than a little on the embarrassing side, but at the moment he was feeling too miserable to even let that bother him. He just wanted to escape that ugly feeling of emptiness. He hesitated for only a moment before rising shakily to his feet, pulling his cloak tight around his shoulders.

Halt had to admit that he was concerned for Will. He'd been unnaturally quiet since they'd left the smugglers behind and made camp. He wondered now if Will's close encounter had shaken his confidence in his abilities. If that were so, it would be something that Will would need to come to terms with and deal with before it became a real problem and really started to eat at him.

However, Halt was fairly certain that that wasn't the real problem, or at least, not the main problem. He suspected that it had mostly to do with the warmweed dredging up best forgotten memories. He watched as Will tossed and turned, shivering slightly though it was not that cold a night.

He kept an eye on his former apprentice as he kept watch. He had been on the verge of getting up and seeing if there was anything that he could do, when he saw Will get up with his cloak wrapped tight around him, bedroll tucked under one arm. He traveled the few paces over to the other side of the campfire where Halt's other former apprentice lay sleeping. Will bent then and lightly touched Gilan's shoulder with trembling fingers.

Gilan, a seasoned campaigner, woke instantly at the contact and instinctively reached towards his weapons. He looked up into Will's face questioningly, searching. Obviously, he caught sight of Will's distressed expression and realized that he had not woken him because of an impending attack but rather for a personal reason.

"What's wrong?" Gilan asked softly.

Will gestured ineffectually with his right hand as he searched for his voice. When he found it however, he said only one word.

"Gilan," he whispered almost despondently, beseechingly.

Something quiet seemed to pass between them in that silent way that brothers often have of communicating with each other without conscious thought or effort. A small smile touched Gilan's face and he raised an eyebrow slightly, but then shrugged as if to say 'why not?' Will nodded gratefully then, set his bedroll right next to the taller Ranger's and lay down, placing his back nearly against Gilan's. Gilan, obviously noting Will slight shivering, merely tossed half of his own cloak over Will, reached behind himself to grip Will's forearm reassuringly once, and then fell almost immediately back to sleep. As Halt watched, Will finally seemed to calm fully, his slight shivering stopping completely, before he too fell asleep.

 **~x~X~x~**

The next morning Halt woke to the scent of freshly brewing coffee and cooking bacon. The scent of the sizzling meat and coffee drifted mouthwateringly towards his nose. Will was bent over the cook fire, Gilan sitting across from him. Will laughed softly at something that Gilan had said as he flipped the strips of meat to insure they would cook evenly on both sides. He looked up when he caught Halt's motion, as the bearded Ranger rose, out of the corner of his eye.

"Morning Halt," he said happily. As he spoke, he swatted Gilan's reaching hand away from the pan without even looking at him.

"Halt," Gilan greeted cheerily in his turn, seemingly totally unabashed by the fact that he'd just been caught attempting to pilfer food and thwarted.

As Halt joined the pair by the fire, he was pleased to see that the cheery light seemed to have come back into Will's eyes. The troubled look of yesterday was almost entirely gone. When Will smiled, it was genuine. He'd already begun to work though and move on from what had been plaguing him the night before. It wasn't something that was just going to go away overnight, but it was something that he could overcome. Halt knew then that Will was truly going to be alright, and that knowledge brought a surge of warmth to his chest.

When Will turned his attention back to the frying pan, Halt nodded once at Gilan in silent gratitude; the nod acknowledging what Gilan had done the night before and what he had been doing this morning: purposely distracting Will from painful thoughts or memories. Gilan simply grinned at him.

 **~x~X~x~**

Halt headed back to the cabin, content to let Will and Gilan report on what had happened to Baron Arald. He didn't much care for formalities and protocol like this. He was more than happy to let his two former apprentices handle it.

He was looking forward to having a nice cup of coffee and putting back Will's stack of letters. He had left the cabin in such haste that he had forgotten to place them in the Will's letter box. He felt an uncomfortable dropping sensation in the pit of his stomach when he came to the sudden realization that the letters were not the only thing he had forgotten; in all the commotion of Gilan coming in the middle of the night, their well-founded worry, and impromptu trip, he had forgotten Will's dog.

He swore silently to himself as he headed inside. Ebony had been inside, sleeping in the spare room when he and Gilan had left. Sometime after she greeted Gilan, she had gotten disinterested and gone out of the room, out of sight—and, because his thoughts had been so occupied with worry for Will, out of mind as well. He wasn't used to having a dog after all.

He headed into the cabin at a hurried pace, dreading to see the state the poor dog and his cabin would be in. It was because of this expectation of seeing the worst that he was surprised to see that the cabin was a neat as it had been when he had left it. There was absolutely no sign of the dog. What he did find was a letter on the table. He picked it up.

 _Dear Halt,_

 _When you didn't show up to meet me at breakfast, I went down to the cabin. You looked as if you had left in a serious hurry, so I assume it was an emergency. I took Ebony back with me because I didn't know how long you might be gone, and thought it would be better for her._

 _Love,_

 _-Pauline_

Halt let out a breath of relief and sent out silent thanks towards Pauline. She truly was a remarkable woman. All thoughts of having a nice quiet cup of coffee flew from his mind as he headed towards Redmont Castle and the apartment that he and Lady Pauline shared in order to thank her and check up on Ebony.

Will and Gilan were still reporting to the Baron by the time he got to his and Pauline's rooms. The graceful Courier was there to meet him, kissing him on the cheek as she embraced him.

"You were gone unexpectedly, and longer than I thought," she commented softly as they headed inside.

He nodded, "It was an unexpected problem. Thank you for watching Ebony for me."

"It must have been some emergency," she remarked, "The poor dog really need to go outside. She practically flew out the door when I opened it. She also knocked over your table and spilt coffee everywhere. But I righted it for you." She looked slightly troubled then. That got Halt's full attention because she rarely ever got flustered. "Speaking of problems, Halt, I found something in the cabin that troubles me."

"What is it?" he asked, growing concerned.

She went to their table and brought forth a stack of letters—Will and Gilan's letters, Halt realized. As she held them towards him, he saw that they had obviously been casualties of the spilled coffee she had mentioned earlier. Most of them were completely ruined. The few that weren't fully destroyed were still damaged. The only ink not smudged by the spill was a small bit of each intro and their closing.

"Will isn't going to be happy about that," Halt said, wincing slightly.

"You knew about these letters?" she asked, her face carefully neutral aside from a slightly dangerous look in her eyes. "How could you allow such a situation to fester like that?" she demanded. "How long have they been so angry with each other? And what started all of this?"

Halt's confusion suddenly melted away into understanding. Of course, if one only read the beginnings and closings of the letters it would indeed look as if Will and Gilan were more than angry with each other. He knew that Pauline thought of his two former apprentices like surrogate sons. So, thinking that they were so angry that they couldn't even speak civilly with each other, upset her. Pauline was still fixing him with that dangerous look, waiting for an answer.

"That isn't exactly what you think," he began to explain, "They aren't really angry with each other. In fact, when I left them both to speak to the Baron they were-" he got no further.

"They are both here?" she asked, interrupting him. Before he could answer however, she was already heading to the door. "We need to see if we can't work this out. This isn't alright and I am ashamed of you for not trying to address this. Is it honestly that hard for you men to sit down and talk things out civilly?" she asked rhetorically as she headed out into the hallway.

"Actually, they're not-" Halt started to say but she had already gone. He followed after her and they both arrived at the intersection in the hallway in time to see Gilan heading easily down the hallway perpendicular to their position. He was no doubt on his way to visit Pauline. Suddenly, a shadow emerged from the open doorway of a vacated room right behind Gilan. It launched itself at the tall young Ranger from behind.

Gilan, without even looking, merely sidestepped his attacker. Will, since the shadow was none other than he, stumbled off balance when he did not meet with the resistance he expected and tumbled to the ground.

"Nice try Will," Gilan said laughing, turning to face the younger Ranger. His laughter died however in a soft grunt of surprise as Will scythed his legs out from under him so that he landed in a heap next to him.

Pauline was already moving towards them. Probably, Halt realized, it was because to a casual eye it might look like a fight, rather than the harmless horseplay that Halt knew it to be. Though it wasn't an often occurrence, his two apprentices did occasionally engage in the tom foolery many Rangers engaged in—in attempts to try and catch each other off guard.

Pauline's pace slowed slightly as the two Rangers laughed. Gilan rose gracefully to his feet and offered Will a hand up, which he took. They didn't look at all like they were angry with each other. She looked from them to the letters in her hand and then to Halt who was standing calmly beside her—the look on his face all too plainly saying 'I told you so,'—and realized that she had gotten worked up for nothing.

"Young men and their stupid ways of showing friendship," she muttered under her breath. "I'll never understand how they seem to think an insult equates to the same thing as a compliment."

 **~x~X~x~**

The next week when Halt entered the small cabin in the woods and saw Will bent over a sheet of paper, quill in hand, and concentrating fiercely, he felt no accompanying feeling of misgivings or unease.

"Writing to Gilan again?" Halt asked mildly.

Will looked up from his work with a foolish grin on his face.

"Yes, I just finished actually," he said with a chuckle, "Since all our other letters were destroyed, we thought we might as well take the opportunity to start again." He handed Halt the rough draft he had completed. "What do you think?" he asked as Halt scanned the letter in question.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Halt said, then reached for the quill and set the paper down to add another line in the intro. "But I think it would be better if you added this here."

He passed it to Will whose smile grew even wider as he read it, as he tried to stifle a laugh. "It's a nice touch, but isn't it a bit unfair—two against one."

"Gilan doesn't have to know that. And besides, it serves him right for all the times he tried to prank me as an apprentice."

"As I recall, you said about the same thing when we left Gilan to fill out my reports for me before the Moondarker incident. Don't you think you've already paid him back enough?" Will asked teasingly.

"Not by far," Halt said, his tone utterly serious, "and besides, the last time was payback for all the times he tried to ambush me on the way to the Gathering, this is something else altogether."

 **The End**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I hope that you enjoyed this little short and that it all seemed believable and in-character. Let me know if you think something needs improving or have any questions.

Also, if any of you are interested, I have some aspirations to make a little mini-series of shorts like this—a collection of four little 3-4 chapter books total. I have tentative outlines for the three others, and put their summaries below. Let me know if you're interested and what you think! If anyone is interested, I'll try to start writing the rest as soon as I get myself some decent free time (curse mid-terms and school projects!) Thanks again!

 **Messenger Hawks:** Will decides to try and train a hawk from the mountains of Rain and Night to carry messages for the Ranger Corps. Unfortunately, training it successfully turns out to be much harder than expected. In hindsight though, that turned out to be a rather good thing. (And Horace finds himself in pretty serious trouble) *Will, Horace, and Evanlyn/Cassandra*

 **Songs:** In which Will uses his skill with the mandola to annoy his friends (especially Halt) charm the ladies, and help rescue a captured Scotti diplomat (And Gilan has a rather bad day) *Will, Alice, Horace, Gilan*

 **Hides:** Will finds himself climbing a tree after playing Greybeard Halt one too many times and discovers something interesting. And that something might just end up holding the key to helping him devise a plan to save his mentor when he finds trouble. (Halt's turn to have a not so pleasant time of it—got to spread the problems around, after all X) *Will, Halt, Crowley, Gilan*

I wish you all an epic rest of the month!

~Kazi

 **~ATGTJ~**


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